


Whistle

by orphan_account



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aoba teaches Koujaku to whistle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whistle

**Author's Note:**

> So my previous fic seemed to be such a hit and I got struck with this sudden idea, I figured why not? It's all fluff. No hot action. I apologize. But I hope you enjoy this story as much as people seemed to enjoy the last one. It takes place way before the events of the first game.

Koujaku brought his cigarette to his lips and took one last, long drag before snuffing the cherry out in the ceramic bottom of the ashtray Aoba had brought out for him ten or so minutes ago before he went to take a shower. He let the smoke escape from his lungs slowly, and his eyes wistfully followed its milky trail as it wound its way in the air. His gaze travelled up to the small strip of night sky peeking its way through the residential buildings. He looked in vain for the stars he knew were there. The island lights blotted out the constellations he had seen in his brief time spent on the mainland.

But he remembered the stars, just like he had remembered Aoba’s smile. The two were so similar in their brilliance, their warmth, and their unreachable distance, that Koujaku’s heart often ached when he looked into the sky.

Koujaku started whistling softly as that familiar loneliness—that feeling he usually fled to Aoba’s to escape—began seeping under his skin, just as the night wind was seeping under his kimono. However, he was not whistling, exactly, more like blowing air out of loose lips in a sorry mimicry of a happy tune. More than a distraction, it was an alternative to the sighs he felt building in his lungs.

He was contemplating lighting another cigarette in an effort to stave off the empty filling carving out a hollow in the pit of his stomach when Aoba came up behind him, making not a sound. When he spoke, piercing the night air so suddenly, Koujaku jumped straight into the air.

“Koujaku, you can’t whistle?” Aoba had asked, ignoring how he had just shaved a few years off the life of his friend with fright.

The question caught Koujaku so off guard he needed a moment to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t whistle? Why would Aoba make such a strange statement?

“Aye, aye, have I found something that not even the great Koujaku-san can do?”

His voice took on that tone he reserved for mocking the way Koujaku was revered by his admirers. Koujaku’s brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out this one-sided conversation. Who said he couldn’t whistle? And what was with the smug look on Aoba’s freshly-washed face?

He was about to enlighten the blue-haired man to the fact that he could, in fact, whistle, when he was flashed with that dazzling, unassuming smile that had him mentally reeling.

“Well, I guess there’s no helping it,” he said as his eyes went soft with kindness. “Guess I’ll have to teach you. It would be shameful for a man with a bird Allmate to not know how to even whistle.”

Koujaku wanted to retort. It was on the tip of his tongue. _Ren is a dog, but you don’t go around barking, do you?_ But instead, all he did was give a little nod and a pathetic, “Yes.” How could he possibly refuse that face?

“First, you have to get the right form,” Aoba instructed. He puckered his lips together, leaving a tiny space between them so small Koujaku bet it would be difficult for him to even squeeze his pinky through.

The implications of that thought hit him squarely in the gut. Inserting a part of himself in Aoba’s mouth. Having that tongue slide up and down that appendage. Having those lips surround him on all sides. He was gaping at his friend as a tumult of feelings roiled inside him.

It wasn’t until Aoba raised an eyebrow in silent question, letting his mouth relax at the same time, did Koujaku snap back to reality. He gave a small cough and went to obediently pucker his lips when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know what he was doing. At the last second, he pushed his lips out into what he imagined was a poor imitation of a duck. At the sight of the ridiculous face he was making, Aoba burst out laughing.

“No, no,” he chuckled. “Like this.”

Koujaku held completely still as Aoba’s thumb and index finger squeezed either side of his mouth. He let the man mold his lips without putting up much of a fight. He was literally putty in Aoba’s hands. And Aoba was so absorbed in what he was doing. He was completely focused on Koujaku’s mouth as he prodded and nudged the muscles of his face into position.

All Koujaku could do was hold on for dear life and hope he would eventually come up for air. He had been completely swept away in Aoba’s tide. He could smell the soap from his recent shower mingling with his own warm scent, feel the heat rolling off his body in the cool night air, his eyes were completely full of the round, soft face just inches from his own.

“Koujaku…”

He could barely hear Aoba’s voice, he was so lost. In fact, he was starting to feel a little dizzy. Aoba had been his rock, the one thing that could ground him to this earth, for so long. It was a complete head-trip for that boy to be the one turning his world upside down right this moment. Koujaku couldn’t make heads or tails of all the conflicting emotions running through him. He and Aoba had always been close, but their proximity now was something else. At least, for Koujaku it was. This was intimate. This was different.

“Koujaku, are you okay?”

Aoba’s concerned voice finally broke through his reverie. Koujaku blinked and focused on Aoba’s face, the worried lines creasing his brow, his slightly parted lips, his expectant look as he waited for Koujaku’s reply. When he realized his mouth was puckered and Aoba’s hands had been drawn away, he stretched his lips back out.

“Sorry,’ he mumbled, dropping his gaze.

Aoba hesitated a moment, trying to think of what Koujaku had to apologize for.

“I—” What was he going to say? I think I might have feelings for you? You touching my mouth turned me on maybe? No, he had to be sure of what he felt before he went confessing recklessly. His friendship with Aoba was too precious to be risking it over uncertainty. “I… already know how to whistle,” he said instead, enforcing his point by letting out a few shrill notes.

“You…” Aoba began in a small voice. And then, louder, “Why did you let me do something so ridiculous?”

He was seriously angry and, for a moment, Koujaku wanted to laugh. It was so like Aoba that relief flooded through him. No, he wasn’t ready for this to change just yet.

“You just looked so sincere suddenly declaring to teach me that I thought it would be harmless to let you,” he explained.

Aoba turned away from him to lean his arms on the railing of the veranda. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Aoba nudged Koujaku in the side with an elbow, and made a comment with a good-natured “you hippo” tagged on the end. Koujaku really did laugh then.

Maybe he really could fall in love with his best friend. But not now.

Not yet.


End file.
